


The Last of The Perfumed Oil

by ImhereImQuire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImhereImQuire/pseuds/ImhereImQuire





	The Last of The Perfumed Oil

The scent was thick in the air of his rooms, so heavy it was an assault upon his nose and the back of his throat and Ghost hovered in the doorway, refusing to cross the threshold at all.

 “Satin, what is that?” he asked, wrinkling his nose as he blinked rapidly, fanning the air as he spoke.

The older boy looked up from the hearth, where he was trying to rekindle a fire which should never have gone out.

“What’s what, my lord?” he asked innocently as he struck the flint repeatedly, a furrow of concentration upon his forehead.

“That!” he said, gesturing at the air, exasperated that Satin had no idea what he was talking about. “The smell, Satin. The smell!”

“Oh… its rose oil, my lord. I was putting some on and thought it might be nice to burn some in the lamp” He smiled sheepishly. “I think I might have overdone it, to be honest. Do you like it?” he asked, looking hopeful as he smiled up at the lord commander.

He likes it, Jon thought. It smelled like… _a brothel_ his mind supplied helpfully, as he tried to think of something kinder and failed. It smelled like a whorehouse and Satin was looking up at him with large, dark trusting eyes asking for his approval and he felt like it would be awful to point it out.

“Its… a bit strong” he said, choosing to be tactful but unable to lie completely.

“It is, isn’t it?” Satin agreed with a sigh. “It’s not really meant as a burning oil in truth, my lord. It’s perfume. But there wasn’t much of it left and I thought that if I used it this way then we could share it rather than me using it on myself. That way it would make everything smell nice. The furs, our cloaks, and the room itself.” The pretty boy bit his lip, clearly suspecting himself in trouble. “That was the last there was of it. There isn’t going to be anymore” he said sadly.

Wonderful, Jon thought wearily.  Just what I need, a cloak that smells like a whore’s bedchambers. Oh, how the men will laugh. But that was a matter that could wait. Something else troubled him now.

“Where did it come from, Satin?” he asked. He knew enough about the way that the young man had come to the wall that he thought it unlikely that he’d brought it with him, knew that he’d come to them with naught but the clothes he stood in, yet for as long as he’d really known the boy he’d smelled of roses. It was a strange thing and it was only now, being told that it was about to come to an end, that he wondered how it had come to be in the first place.

There was an uncomfortable silence as Satin tried to avoid meeting his eyes and Jon knew he wasn’t going to like the answer, but he continued to stare at the other regardless, making it clear that he expected an answer.

“It was given to me… as a present” Satin said, and again, from the way he chewed upon his lip Jon knew that he thought himself in trouble again.

“A present?” he asked, incredulously.

“A present” Satin repeated, looking tense.

“And have you a lot of these presents?” he asked, wearily.

Satin looked down at his lap. “Not since I became your steward, my lord.” he said quietly.

That much was a blessing, Jon thought to himself, though it was still more than enough to undermine everything that he had been saying in defense of the other, that what men were before they came to the wall was unimportant, that all slates were washed clean. But what was he to do? He couldn’t reprimand the other for something which had been happening months ago, under his predecessor’s command.

“Just… just see that there aren’t any more, Satin” he said gruffly, at last. “I mean it”

“Of course not, my lord” the boy sighed, and while before he sounded guilty now he sounded like Ygritte. _You know nothing, Jon Snow._

“Good man.” he said, more kindly, then, before he could stop himself “And if there’s anything feel you can’t do without then you let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”


End file.
